Glass Houses
by MMBabefanmmm
Summary: Helen Plum sits in jail as Joseph Morelli leaves town with his tail between his legs. The impact on the Burg and the repercussions reverberate through Trenton.


_JE owns all characters. Just playing with them._

 **Glass Houses**

 **I'll be back to chew bubblegum and kick ass … and I'm all out of bubblegum.** Joseph Morelli was reeling. How the hell can one day bring you crashing down is still roiling and churning in his distorted and twisted brain. His obsession with a curly haired brunette was the cause of his downfall. It was all her fault!

Life just wasn't the same in the Burg anymore. Helen Plum was still in jail while Morelli slunk out of town like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs.

Presently, he was an angry bitter man, full of hatred, with a strong desire for vengeance. Yeah. He wanted to kick some serious ass. However, his departure orders were explicitly clear. For now, Joseph Morelli had little choice. Even though he was so pissed off, so infuriated and frustrated because he couldn't do a thing about it, he was seething at his predicament. He had no control of his current status. It was futile and he was champing at the bit. But he was determined to get even. He wasn't about to take this lying down. He had a score to settle. Someone was going to pay.

He was told, "For everyone concerned, it would be better that you leave the state. Disappear Jo, for a while, a long while. You have become persona non grata. I cannot guarantee you a safe and unbiased future based on your current record. But I'll be watching you. I want you immediately out of the entire Tri-state area. Capiche?" The Chief brooked no argument.

Earlier, he had bonded his own mother out from the jail, using his house as collateral. She and Helen Plum had been arrested. Driving home from the TPD he found his house was ablaze initially thinking Stephanie had blown up another vehicle. So this day just couldn't get any worse. Or could it? Each event in his downfall and misery was Stephanie's fault. It was all her doing.

So, he had been given his marching orders. Since he was stripped of his TPD status, not a recommended or temporary retirement, nor an interstate transfer, Jo was fired! So **Mister** Joseph Morelli was on his way, out of town, out of state and he had just become aware that he had an escort. Because he was so pissed off he didn't notice them at first. Initially he was sure it was Manoso's thugs but the note which he found earlier on his windshield indicated otherwise. This was not good. He noticed cars along the way, towncars, with dark tinted windows, not the shiny black Rangeman fleet vehicles. This did not bode well. Some tailed him for miles then peeled off to be replaced by another towncar, or two. What the fuck?! He put his foot down as he tried to shake them off. They did likewise lurking a safe distance whilst letting him know that they were still there. No mistake about that. He was feeling a bit intimidated especially now that he was a civilian without the power of authority or protection that he used to hide behind when he had his TPD badge. This day was going to shit, constantly deeper.

Previously, after talking to his mother, he discovered that this really bad day was getting worse with each and every turn. He took stock of his current predicament. His Cupcake had married that Manoso thug. He still firmly believed that she was his, his entitlement because he had her first. Ironically Morelli did not see the whole picture. His narrow and selfish perspective had seriously clouded judgement. Glaringly obvious was his lack of maturity and increasing lack of control as the waves of hatred and venom rolled over him. He vented his spleen on the morons and idiots driving in his way as he made for the Turnpike. Finding his house on fire meant the only possessions he had were the clothes on his back and what he had in his truck. His mother, his own mother, had disowned him. He had lost his Cupcake to Manoso. He had been fired from his job at the TPD for conduct unbecoming an officer. His own mother had basically told him he was no longer welcome in her home and Grandmother Bella had cast him out with a vicious, scornful curse threatening to shrivel 'his boys'. He was her favourite grandson, but obviously no more. He winced and shuddered at the thought of his precious 'boys' being harmed and caressed them gently as if to protect and reassure that they were still … intact and whole. She was ashamed of him after what she heard. What the hell did that mean?

ooOoo

In the meantime, the telephone in the Plum household was surprisingly silent. No phone calls, incoming nor outgoing. No gossip mongering and whining. Frank stared at the inanimate object with disdain. It had been the bane of his life, that wretched phone constantly attached to Helen's toxic ear, a bitter conveyance of her spiteful vitriol. The unusual quietness in the house, yes house, not home, though disconcerting, was actually peaceful.

Helen is still deep, deep, **deep** in denial. She'd been living in her glass cathedral and the Queen Bee was still smarting. She had been stung and is still whining. Her fall from grace had been a spectacular one. She'd been so busy and entrenched in throwing stones from the rooftop of her glass cathedral, passing judgement on her realm that was the Burg and now her image was totally shattered all because of her youngest daughter.

"Where is Frank?"

"Why am I still sitting here?"

"Don't they know who I am?"

"Why haven't I been bailed out?"

Definitely deep in Denial.

She was pacing and muttering to herself, wringing her fingers in her imaginary apron between smoothing out the creases each time she heard footsteps approach resuming her prim and proper pose on the sterile bench in her cell.

"Stephanie should be here." She muttered. "She does this all the time. Surely, her own daughter, with all that bailing experience, would know how the system works. And Valerie? I would have expected her here the moment they locked the cage door."

When Robin Russell peeked in the holding cells Helen was pacing, constantly, and wringing her hands, her head twitching. It was apparent that she was going through withdrawal. She had been moaning and whining, complaining bitterly and now the shaking and shivering began. Soon the headaches would start. Oh yes. Mrs Plum was not a pretty sight. Shattered. She had complained endlessly about her 'living conditions', the food and the 'amenities'. For now she was quietly muttering, pacing and looking totally shattered.

oooOOooo

Shattered?

Frank sat in his chair. Shattered. His life had change very suddenly. Having to prepare his own meals had been okay at first but he was over that now. He had polished off the cold cuts and leftovers from the fridge and the cake and cookies were gone.

He sat in his chair waiting for the call. The call to sit at the table did not come. No noises from the kitchen of a hot meal being prepared. He no longer ate at the table. So he sat in his chair defiantly, eating a pastrami sandwich and having a beer because he could.

But his life had changed and he was yet to realise it fully. He was dumbstruck. Helen was off her tree. Drunk driving and well over the limit, that much he did know.

And still that wretched phone was silent.

A moment of freedom, a moment of peace. No whining, no nagging. None of that relentless gossip. But he had to admit, he wanted the routine, his routine to be back to 'normal', if you could call it that.

Where were his meals?

His breakfast?

His lunch?

His dinner?

Tonight was Wednesday. Wednesday was always spaghetti night. He loved his spaghetti. He looked in the freezer. Nothing there. Of course, Helen always asserted fresh was best.

So he drove to the lodge. Idling in the carpark deep in thought, a door opened and a passenger stepped in.

"Oh. I'm not taking any fares at the moment."

"I know Frank." He looked up from his daze, startled by the unexpected voice of his friend, Joe Juniak.

"How are you holding up?"

"Meh. Meals are tough. Came here for the evening buffet."

"You look like shit Frank."

"Do I? Where did it all go wrong, to hell in a handbasket? I can't bring myself to bond her out either."

"We've all been there, Frank. We have given them control, relinquishing control to our women for our own peace of mind. We have become Stepford husbands, all to keep them off our own backs with their relentless nagging and gossiping. It had been the best cover we ever had. I remember way back, when we were the targets of their moans and groans. Then we had kids. More moaning."

"Yeah. Tell me about it. I had the Queen of Moans. Then as the kids grew up her focus changed to the Burg. Stephanie was often in the news especially when she joined Vinnie as a bonding agent. To divert attention from herself and her image she homed in on everyone and anyone with a bit of dirt and made sure to share the muddy waters. 'Mrs So-and-so's daughter got pregnant. And Mrs What's-her-name had an affair.' And all that other bullshit. 'Why me?' Christ. If I had a dollar for every time she uttered those two words, I would be a rich man. Huh. Often, I knew before Helen and that pissed her off."

"How did you know before her, Frank?"

"Had an early start at the Post Office and happened to hear the ladies talking. 'What ladies?' She'd asked. So I told her and from then on she made it her mission to be in the know before me. Edna, of course, was a good source with those old crones at the Clip and Curl. And that funeral parlour was a gossip mecca."

They sat there in morbid silence, reminiscing with a distasteful expression on their visages.

"It was kinda good not being the brunt of that incessant nagging, you know? I may have added fuel to the fire with other little titbits of whisperings I heard. It kept her off my back and it worked a treat."

Joe nodded. Men at their age appreciated such diversions.

"You know the Lodge. Men can gossip too. And passengers in my cab divulge information, sometimes unwittingly, sometimes while they chat together I overhear things. Nothing is sacred. But Christ, Joe. This is so surreal."

"We all do it for our own self-preservation."

"But you're not married to Helen Mazur. She just went overboard Joe, and yes, she no longer nags me. Stephanie copped a lot. Valerie was safe living in California and then being a Helen clone as well."

"You have to man up, Frank, for all of us. Find your balls. If you don't we are all in the manure and there by the Grace of God go I. So what are you going to do about Helen?"

"Hmph. Nothing. Let her stew. I've had it Joe. You should have seen the stash of hidden bottles I found, hidden, while I was looking for food to eat. I had no idea it was that bad. She's a lush, a soak. She has a serious drinking problem. Let her dry out. I don't want to deal with the fallout when she goes off because I drained the lot. Even found some bottles stashed in the bathroom, the laundry cupboard and in my shed! What do I do, Joe?"

"I have something in mind. Provisional release, call it conditional with AA and rehabilitation. That much I can do. But we can't hold her forever, Frank."

Leaving the car, Frank and Joe went inside the Lodge, the former feeling morose and shattered. Many of the men patted him on the shoulder in commiseration, shaking their heads.

oooOOOooo

Vibrations were abuzz in the Burg. The Queen Bee is down. All the phones in the Burg were still humming with the latest news. There was a feeding frenzy and Helen was the most delicious fodder.

Hushed tones, excited secret whispers, sniggers and joyous little claps of wicked delight yet, they were also in shock. Yes, in shock but positively vibrating with anticipation and frenzied delight at the demise of Helen Mazur Plum. She had maligned so many of them with her scathing and scornful judgement and now the ship had been flipped over and her ship was sinking fast.

But were many unanswered questions.

Where is Helen?

Is she hiding at home?

No one had seen her at the bakery?

No had had seen her at Giovinchini's.

No one had seen her at The Bag and Shop.

It wasn't until one of the check-out girls whispered that her friend had seen her still at the TPD.

OMG

Stunned silence hit the bakery.

OPEN SEASON!

She's still in the TPD!

She hasn't been bailed!

No one.

No one has released her.

Not her husband Frank. Why not? Why would a husband not bail his own wife?

Not Valerie.

Not Stephanie.

Not even Edna.

Where is Edna?

Atlantic City. A whole bunch of old biddies have gone for the week to scoop the loot at the casino.

OMG

This is just too juicy for the honey bees.

OMG

The jump start jolted them all. The momentary lull was like a heart attack, a seizure and a total shock to the system for them all.

Utter disbelief.

Those brave enough challenged the unspoken accord with snide whisperings that became soft mutterings and now reached their normal bitchy timbre. It was Helen Plum after all. She's going down! Big time. No answers meant there was a lot of speculation.

But they were still guarded.

Angie Morelli.

What will she do?

What will she say?

And as if on cue, Angie and her mother-in-law Bella, slid through the front door.

Everyone froze, holding their breath, watchful and wary eyes stalking her every move, parting the way to the cashier.

"Ladies." She nodded politely.

She made her order at the counter as per usual which made them shift their glances instinctively lest she do a silent curse. Restless movement from the silent watchers made her head spin. Bella sneered, willing to catch an eye.

"What!"

No response.

Angie paid for her goods.

Before she could bag them, from the back could be heard quietly but assertively,

"I wonder how Officer Morelli is?"

"Officer?" Came the sarcastic reply. "He's just **Mr** Morelli now. He got shafted, you know fired for all that hanky-panky and –"

All eyes were watching Angie and Bella. They both flushed red, fist clenching. Bella made to turn but Angie muttered something under her breath as her back went ramrod straight.

"Be careful," she warned scathingly. People in glass houses should not throw stones."

When the doors closed the entire shop burst into cackles and shrieks of laughter along with mocking tones of, "Be careful'" and oohs and aahs.

"Oh. No. Not the eye!"

They were having a field day.

So the two Queen bees and the mother-in-law witch have been disempowered. They no longer have any clout or influence.

"We should celebrate. Make this auspicious day an annual anniversary. We should find a catchy name …. Like Day of Bringing the Bitches Down or QBB Day as in Queen Bee Bitches, you know Q for queen and BB for bee bee. Lots of nods of approval."

"Tomorrow, morning coffee at my place. Bring a plate."

Open season in the Burg.

ooooOOOoooo

In the meantime, Helen had company, a very large woman of comfortable size. She was sassy with Attitude. She did not appreciate sharing her space with Helen after seeing her bigoted reaction. Withdrawal was beginning to make its presence known as she sat shaking and trembling, fearfully watching the large black woman glaring at her, still muttering under her breath. This day couldn't get any worse? Or could it?

" **Hey! You talkin' to me?"**

…ooooOoooo…

 _This is chapter 4 in the Tag Team Challenge and_ _ **Spiffytgm**_ _, you're it! Have fun!_

 **"People in glass houses sink ships"**. Quote from Doc in the movie **The Boondock Saints** , 1999.

The title **Glass Houses** is also a song by **The Classic Crime**. It's worth a listen.

 **"You talkin' to me?"** is from the movie **Taxi Driver**.


End file.
